


Case 186: The Adventure Of The Gila Lizard (1901)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [239]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Destiel - Freeform, Exhaustion, F/M, Gay Sex, Jealousy, Johnlock - Freeform, Lizards, London, M/M, Poisoning, Police, Theft, Unrequited Crush, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 00:23:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17929229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ With John out of commission for a time, Sherlock has to deal with something slimy, repulsive and slow-moving – and as it has four legs it's not his brother Bacchus for once! But appearances can be deceptive as someone is set to find out rather too late.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vitabear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vitabear/gifts).



_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

There is, if I am being fair, the very slightest possibility that the slight smile on my face could have been misinterpreted by an uncharitable observer as a smirk. A large one. And that the English city doctor lying broken but happy in the next room just may have had something to do with that. Possibly.

John and I had had a memorable return from our successful case in Lancashire, a frustrating time for me as the case had required our taking poor Sergeant Templar back to the scene of his earlier travails. That gentle giant was someone who was not the only person to get exactly what they deserved out of that case, but he had more than repaid my work by taking himself to the other end of the train back to London and giving us some five hours to work off our sexual frustrations. And contrary to what John claimed when he saw my notes of the case I did not 'strut' as we made our way off the platform at Euston, nor did I smirk all the way back to Baker Street. Especially not every time he whined when we went over a bump in the road.

Mr. and Mrs. Singer were away visiting friends upon our return but Mrs. Lindberg had clearly known what had happened, at least judging from her knowing smile when I said that the rooms would not need to be attended to by the maids for a week at least and that all meals were to be left outside. Muttering 'go get him!' to me as I followed ( _not_ chased) John up the stairs was perhaps pushing it but I was in no mood to discuss such trifles. I had far more important matters to delve into.

And so to last night, some four weeks after our return. I had wondered if John might appreciate a rest, but any such thoughts had been dispelled when we had had a surprise visit from his least favourite Cornish ex-fisherman, my friend Lowen. The young fellow was in a steady relationship with one of his fellow molly-men Philip, whose divorce from his most unpleasant and grasping wife (we are almost talking Lady Williams levels here) I had helped to secure, but the Cornishman clearly enjoyed the fact that John did not like him one little bit when he leered at me. I also knew that John got far more possessive after each of his visits and that that would add an edge to his love-making. Nearly always considerate to the point of stopping every few minutes to make sure I was fine with his pounding me into the mattress, he was far more prone to let rip when provoked. And I loved it!

There is the faint possibility that I may have remarked how well the Cornishman was looking, and how very fit he was for someone now in his forties. Such remarks may or may not have annoyed John ever so slightly. Oh well.

I smiled at the memory of him folding me in half and growling 'all mine!' as he had arched his back and snarled his defiance at the heavens (or at least at any Cornish ex-fishermen in the vicinity). I was so damn lucky!

֍

It was odd that I had been thinking of Sergeant Templar that particular April morn because the gentleman himself arrived at Baker Street not long after I had finished breakfast (I had had to take John's in to him as he was not yet capable of such major activities as standing, and the sweet man had still given me half his bacon!). And after eating he had slumped back down and was snoring in under a minute.

It was _still_ not a strut!

The tall sergeant sat himself down looking decidedly more flustered than usual. I could well guess why.

“Mrs. Lindberg's friend Miss Sweethams is visiting?” I observed. 

He groaned. Miss Henrietta Sweethams was one of those overly keen young females who nearly always engendered the same reaction in nearby males, namely to flee for the hills. She well lived down to the famous _'Times'_ cartoon of the 'Desperate To Be A Housewife' always in search of a man, and any man. John loathed her for always simpering at me and did not like me going downstairs when she was in 221B. But at least he liked me going down when....

My mind was not exactly helpful at times.

“Please say you can slip me me out the fire-exit when I leave!” the sergeant sighed. “That woman is a menace! Thank you again over that horrible Weston business, sir. I hope that the doctor is all right?”

“He will recover”, I said equably. “He may even manage standing up by the end of the day. Has this anything to do with the new station?”

The Metropolitan Police Service was expanding at this time and a new police station had opened up on the borders of Sergeant Templar's own. The borders between each one's area were as ever a source of unnecessary friction – John has rightly remarked on several occasions as to how parochial some of the upper ranks of the constabulary could be, defending their 'patch' like a medieval baron defending a castle and seemingly forgetting that they were all supposed to be on the same side. Human nature sometimes had a lot to answer for.

The sergeant looked decidedly awkward. Unfortunately I could guess why.

“Sergeant Andrews?” I ventured.

He nodded, looking glumly at the floor. Sergeant Adonis Andrews, who had very clearly been named by his parents more in delusional expectation than the remotest sense of reality, was the man in charge of the new station, a fellow whose unpleasant exterior was more than matched by an even more unpleasant interior. A grasping and gormless idiot who would surely not have made it as far as sergeant had he not had family in the force, and regrettably one of those 'modern' policemen who were more concerned with being seen to do things than actually doing them. 

“He used his connections to dump this case on me”, Sergeant Templar sighed, “because he thinks that it will give me a black mark. We both made sergeant at the same time you see, so if we proceed to inspector we would be rivals.”

“Then we must endeavour to ensure that he fails in that plot”, I said. “I am completely at your disposal and so will the doctor be when he can stand up. How can we help?”

The young giant took a deep breath.

“Last month a gang of four thugs broke into the vaults of the City and Provincial Bank in Duncannon Street, just off the Square”, he began. “They knew what they were after; Lady Morland's diamonds no less. We thought that we had cornered them there when there was a shoot-out – I swear sir, this city is getting more like the Wild West of America every day! - but two of them got away.”

“You know that for sure?” I asked. He nodded.

“Gangs are very parochial”, he said, “and these four have worked together for some years now. That bastard – pardon my French, sir - Mr. Bramble's motley crew. When we only found three bodies – Ballas, Harmsworth and Smith - we knew that Bramble had to have gotten away.”

“Their homes?” I asked.

“That was the odd thing”, the sergeant said. “We knew where he lived of course but it won't surprise you that he had enough sense to not go there, at least not straight away. We posted a watch on the place but nothing for a whole week. Then one night he must have slipped in under cover of darkness; we spotted him there the following morning.”

“And you arrested him?” I asked. The sergeant shook his head.

“He was found shot dead”, he said. “We think that a woman called Diana Buster may have been behind it; she was a former squeeze of his and probably the only one close enough for him to let on where he stashed the loot. And there's worse. The next house along is owned by Sir Edmund!”

 _Now_ I saw his problem.

“As in Lieutenant-Colonel Henderson, the new Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police”, I said. “Your ultimate superior. I am surprised that the vultures of the press have not fastened on that fact yet.”

“It's registered in his wife's maiden name”, the sergeant explained, “as she came into it before she married but I'm sure they'll find out soon enough. And when they do I'll cop it for not solving the crime quickly enough. You know how things are.”

Sadly I did. Overt racism was now frowned upon in the upper ranks of the police service but a black policeman who made a mistake or failed in some way was much more likely to face negative consequences than a white one. It was wrong but it was the way of the world. I thought for a few moments.

“Did this Mr. Bramble not have anyone else to him to whom he might have spoken about his prize?” I asked.

“Two sons and a daughter, sir, and it is a toss-up to say which one he hates the most. The eldest, Gordon, is very much a chip off the old block; he tried to diddle his dear old dad out of the proceeds of one of his jobs some time back so they've not been talking since. The second, John, is just as bad if not worse but at least he's not been so dumb as to cross his dear old dad directly, although the word is that they did not talk. I think he married someone his dad thought beneath him, which is a joke. The third, the daughter Alicia is inside at the moment over her involvement in a murder and with no hope of getting out any time soon, so I suppose she is in the clear.”

Although she might have had someone else do it for her”, I said. “We both know how these things work. Will Mr. Gordon inherit the house?” 

“Eventually”, he said. Seeing my confusion he continued, “he is away in Germany just now – he married a woman over there which his dad hated him for even more - so his brother has already moved in along with his pet lizard. Two slime-balls together I'd say.”

I looked up sharply.

“Lizard?” I said perhaps a little too loudly. There was an annoyed grunt from the next room but then silence; the sergeant smiled slightly. “Do you know what sort?”

“Only that they say it's one of them poisonous ones, sir”, my visitor said clearly surprised at my interest in a reptile. “Is it important?”

“When did Mr. John Bramble move into the house, exactly?” I asked. The sergeant looked at the calendar on the wall.

“Sixteen days ago, sir”, he said. 

Possibly too long, I thought. Or possibly not.

“Can you get one of your men at the station to bring Mr. John Bramble in for questioning?” I asked.

“We could”, the sergeant said. “But why?”

“Because I want him out of that house”, I said. “Someone inside it has the secret to locating where his late and un-lamented father hid the Morland diamonds and I wish him not to be there when they are found. Although it partly depends on that repulsive reptile.”

It was a strange coincidence that, at that very moment there was a knock at the door and it was opened by none other than Miss Henrietta Sweethams, in a dress that even the dinosaurs might have thought unfashionable. Sergeant Templar snorted at the timing but looked visibly alarmed. 

“In fact I think we need to go there _right now!”_ I said to him.

His look of gratitude was overwhelming!

֍


	2. Chapter 2

We did not in fact go straight to the house as I wished to have John with me, and he was not up to.... well, anything much for the rest of the day. But we did step out for a while to allow the sergeant to make his escape and arrange to meet up with Sergeant Temple the following day at 'Dunrobbin' (I held to the view that the French had one thing right in that some people should not be allowed to use certain names for both houses and offspring). 

The following day John had recovered enough to make the journey, although he still moaned occasionally as we made the monumental trek down the stairs of 221B to where Mrs. Lindberg was visibly smirking. Then it was a cab-ride to a large house in a fairly upmarket area of Marylebone where we again met the sergeant. We were soon inside and in a large but dark room that was dominated by a cage, inside which a two-foot long striped sandy-coloured lizard was glaring balefully at us.

“You _sure_ it is not dangerous?” the sergeant asked warily. I noted that he was skulking behind me (impressive given his size and only a cruel consulting detective would have observed that he was not the only one doing that), and bit back a smile.

“We shall be avoiding it as much as possible”, I said, “and its bite can be fatal if one does not get it treated immediately. But it is exceptionally slow-moving so we are safe. Indeed it is rather akin to the most admirable bumble-bee if on a somewhat larger scale; both will only attack if provoked. We shall not be so unwise as to provoke it.”

“What if it is hungry?” John fretted.

“In the wild the creatures can get by on as little as five large meals a year”, I said. “Observe the curiously long and thick tail; it is used to store fat. A most efficient killing machine overall but not dangerous to those wise enough to keep clear of it.”

I smiled to myself as I heard a faint but distinctive sound from the hallway we had not long left. I had taken the precaution of dropping a small ball-bearing just by the doormat, and sure enough that was the sound of it skittling across the parquet flooring as someone entered the house.

I carefully opened the cage door, having already made sure that there was a clear passage all through the house for it. I only hoped that the low-slung creature would not have to manage the stairs but I suspected that that would not be a problem. For some little time it continued to watch us with sleepy half-interest then clambered to its feet and lumbered through the exit, snuffling the floor as it went.

“The creature is a gila monster, haling from the south-western United States”, I explained to my friends. “As I said it can be deadly, but the only people who have been killed by it are those who either provoked a creature or who scared it by getting too close. As you can see from its gait a man could out-walk the beast, let alone out-run it.”

“Still gives me the creeps!” the sergeant shuddered. “Why did he not keep a cat or a dog like normal folks?”

“Because this creature might earn someone a huge sum of money”, I said. “Observe.”

The repulsive lizard had clearly picked up some sort of scent from the way it was sniffing around one particular patch of floor. It seemed to be thinking about it then lumbered off slowly but purposefully. A child crawling on its hands and knees could have outpaced the thing.

“Gila monsters have an exceptional sense of smell”, I said to the sergeant. “There are stories of them being able to track down an egg merely from it having been rolled across a surface.”

The sergeant's eyes lit up.

“I get it”, he said. “So Bramble hid the jewels somewhere with a load of food and left a trail there?”

“Exactly”, I said. “Now where is it going?”

The lizard had hesitated briefly in the centre of the corridor before turning sharply and heading into what turned out to be the library. It trundled slowly across the parquet floor effecting a neat quarter circle until it bumped up against a panel in the wall.

“Well done, Sher!”

We all three span round. Two men had entered the room, neither of whom I would have wished to have near me in normal circumstances. My annoying brother Bacchus and Sergeant Adonis Andrews.

“Good of my friend here to have found the jewels”, Bacchus smirked. “Sergeant?”

His associate paled.

“You want me to go near _that_ creepy thing?” he shuddered. “It's disgusting!”

“Oh for Heaven's sake!” Bacchus snapped. “It is only a lizard. How dangerous can it be?”

He moved towards the creature.

“I really would not do that, Bacchus”, I said laconically, knowing full well that my words would have no effect on him. As usual (and a green-eyed someone with bowed legs can shut up about this) I was right. Bacchus scowled at us all.

“Like I am afraid of..... aaarrghhh!”

I blinked. I had not even seen the creature move, but my brother was wailing in agony. I sighed and looked at John.

“Do I have to?” he pouted.

“Hippocratic Oath”, I reminded him. “No exceptions.”

He sighed and went over to remove the poison from the pest. I noted that Sergeant Andrews had already fled, and smiled. I had posted Benji and Lloyd outside the house to stop him running to the newspapers and claiming the credit. I was sure that they would 'persuade' him, one way or another.

֍

It is possible that John was perhaps just a little rough in his treatment of Bacchus, for which I really should have reprimanded him. I would get round to it. Some time. 

“But why didn't Mr. John Bramble use the monster to track down the jewels?” Sergeant Templar asked. “Surely he could have worked out what his dad had done?”

“Because as I said, in the wild the creature eats only very rarely”, I explained. “You saw the size of the beast; moving that bulk requires a lot of effort so few and large meals make for much greater efficiency. Mr. John Bramble had to wait for it to get hungry before it would oblige him.”

The sergeant thought for a while. As I have mentioned he often gave the impression of mental slowness but many Londoners were learning that appearances, perhaps a little like the lizard now safely locked back in his cage, could be deceptive.

“Lady Morland will be over the moon!” he grinned. “And Mr. Andrews?”

“Certain friends of mine are 'entertaining' him for the rest of the day”, I said, “until we can get the story of how a brave London sergeant overcame a terrible and fearsome monster to retrieve Lady Morland's diamonds.”

“You are sure you do not want your name brought into it, sir?”

“This should be your case”, I said with a smile. “Though if Lady Morland offers a reward then yes, I would welcome a half-share of it.”

“Only half?” the young fellow asked, clearly surprised.

“I can pass it onto the Baker Street Orphanage”, I said. “And you have your own life to build, family and all. Maybe even......”

“Definitely not Miss Henrietta Sweethams!” he said fervently. “I'd rather go back and face that damn lizard!”

John and I both chuckled at that.

֍

_Postscriptum: It was definitely not Miss Henrietta Sweethams; indeed it was someone loosely known to us. In our last year in Baker Street, 1904, we would perform a service for the then-grown Virbius Henriksen, our cake-loving friend Victor's grandson as one of our very last cases from our most famous address. Shortly after that Virbius' sister Victoria, then just sixteen, came up to see her brother from Devonshire and met Sergeant Templar, and they were married in 1906. John and I were deeply honoured to be asked to stand as godfathers to their first-born son Joshua. And there was even a happy ending for the lizard who I persuaded London Zoo to take on. I try to help out all of God's creatures._

_Except perhaps Miss Henrietta Sweethams._

_All right, and Bacchus who I made sure was visited by Mother while in hospital. After all, everyone loves it when family members come by and read some of the stories they have written specially, do they not?_

֍


End file.
